The Ghost Inside
by Faselowne
Summary: History has a funny way of repeating itself...or maybe it just runs in the family? Johnny Tran's forgotten sister tells her side of the story after her brother is put in jail. Based on the first movie. T for language/content. ONE-SHOT.


_Disclaimer: I do not own FATF or any of its characters._

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><p><strong>The Ghost Inside<strong>

When they threw my brother in jail, there were two emotions I had felt. The first was sadness.

It was my nineteenth birthday when we received that call from NYPD. _They _claimed they had Johnny in custody.

_They_ said my brother had killed some kid named Jesse. A kid from Dominic's gang.

My father let the phone drop from his hand as he caught mother in her sobbing state. I watched them in pity, as they both sat there crying for their failure of a son. My father had angry tears, my mother held the sad ones.

I ran to the upstairs bathroom, throwing up white chunks of my birthday cake into the toilet.

_My _brother took the life of somebody else.

Another heave into the toilet.

He missed my birthday to kill.

And to think that Johnny had promised to stop by the house and bring me something worthwhile, considering that he had forgotten my last five birthdays. I had looked forward to it, despite the fact that our father had banned him from the house. He was still enraged from when L.A.P.D. that had burst through our doors before.

But this was different…this was an entirely different circumstance.

I gasped into the toilet because all that came forth was acid. A burning sensation became present in my throat. Tears streamed down my already distressed face as I started feeling sorry for my brother. I sobbed in little shakes against the bathroom wall.

The next emotion I had felt was anger.

He was convicted of murder in the first degree—life in prison, no chance of probation. My father didn't even take advantage of the visitation rights Johnny was granted.

I did.

But I always regretted it. It was my dismay to realize that my brother wasn't himself anymore. His skin looked clammy and pale at times, his eyes managing dark rings around their delicate edges, his head shaved clean.

Johnny lost his identity. He seemed completely dead, inside and out.

There were days he'd ask me how I was doing. I would say the usual answer, my default answer. "College is just fine", "I'm managing my grades", "Mother is in good health". Then he'd ask about father's mood, half-expecting me to not answer. Most of the time, I never did.

But deep inside I could tell he knew how our father felt. He had stopped acknowledging Johnny as his son.

Dad had given up on him.

After awhile, complete silence engulfed my brother. He would just sit there, lifeless, as I chided on about a new boyfriend, how I figured out to not screw up a recipe, or the renovation of my new bedroom. I tried selflessly to uplift his spirits, even with the most useless news.

His eyes had still remained dim as he held the phone against his ear, listening and saying nothing. That condition didn't change for three years.

Today, I felt selfish when I told him that it would be my last visit.

But I had become sick of his silent treatment.

"You need to speak," I said faking a smile. Mustered frustration was the only natural emotion on my face.

Johnny used to be so strong, so ruthless. Others avoided testing his patience, and those that did test it paid a heavy and painful price. There was even a point when I had slept with Dominic Toretto. My brother had held such a deep grudge against him, even though I told him over and over that it was solely my mistake.

The day of the trial, he had promised me not to worry…no matter what the outcome.

But instead, he just sat there…gazing at me with the phone against his ear. His aloof expression was unchanged.

I banged a fist against the glass separating us, noticing the warning look from the guard a distance away from me. I quickly removed my clenched fist.

"Your self-pity makes me nauseous. Stop wallowing like a bitch." The words dripped anger from my lips, forceful and strained. I trembled with anger and my knuckles turned a milky white. I wanted to punch my brother, and just hope that he would wake up.

He just stared on at me. My statement had no effect.

"It's only your fault. Don't make it mine too." My eyes narrowed at his unreasonable lingering. There was a sick feeling gathering at the pit of my stomach, as if I had consumed some bad food before. I just couldn't contain my anger.

"It's not my fault father hates you."

What I said—no, what I did was evil. But blaming him for everything felt so good. It was his fault.

Johnny's attention flickered to me, a reaction to my hateful tone. His pupils become somewhat focused on mine. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

But I continued with my rant. "You screwed up our family. All mom does is sleep and dad's always doing more and more work." I took a much-needed gasp before continuing. "They avoid me because of _you_."

His eyebrows furrowed at me, and I knew then that he truly despised me.

"Then fix it." He said it slowly, lips barely parting.

I frowned at him and the first sentence he's said in years. Murder could clearly be felt through his voice.

"I won't make your problems mine, Johnny."

"That's not for you to decide anymore."

I clutched the phone with a hard grip. I hated him.

I _hated _my brother.

He spoke again, but quietly and cruelly.

"Don't hate me because father can't make you his star. You can never replace what I've done for this family."

I ignored his statement and chose to attack him again. "You didn't have to kill that kid."

"But I did," he whispered intently with no emotion in his face. The corners of his lips curl up and he leans back in his seat. The guard calls that our time is up.

I felt like throwing up birthday cake again.

The funny thing is that I don't feel it right now. I feel like laughing as I hold Johnny's .45 in my hand.

It's directed at Toretto's sister. The nozzle is only a few centimeters away from her forehead.

I cock it without even thinking.

She's sobbing, asking if I want all the money in the house. Water wets her cheeks as she trembles at my cold steel against her temple. Her hands are holding either side of her head, as if she's shielding from a possible bullet wound. It's only me and her right now.

Me, her, and Johnny's gun. _My _gun.

I smile a bit when I let the gun go off, and she falls to the floor. Blood is spreading quickly from the top of her head. A fresh smell of copper fills my nostrils.

The only thought that makes sense to me is making Dominic Toretto suffer. And I had a head start with this little tramp: the one he was closest to in flesh and blood.

I didn't have to kill that girl.

But I did.

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><p><em>Weird shit, right? It was written awhile back, and I decided to upload it and make it a one-shot. If you got through the whole thing, thank you for reading!<em>


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